


my heart full of honey, my head full of bees

by Princex_N



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Conversations, Disability, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Shame, Trust, Understanding, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: “Would you mind terribly if I carried you?” Mymble asks suddenly, and Joxter is so caught off guard he wonders for a moment if she’s talking to one of the children instead of him, but her eyes stay fixed on his face and not any of theirs.“Me?” he asks, trying quite hard to hide the sudden influx of shame that’s caught him rather off guard. “You know I’m not one of your children, right?”
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter/Mymlan | The Mymble
Comments: 6
Kudos: 103





	my heart full of honey, my head full of bees

**Author's Note:**

> typed this one up on my phone, so please let me know if there are any typos or auto-corrected strangeness!
> 
> title from [ this A Softer Sea comic](https://asoftersea.tumblr.com/post/185572172328/299-you-mean-no-one-else-hears-that-buzzing)

The Joxter is making a concentrated effort to not show how exhausted he is, but he isn’t sure how much luck he’s having. 

Traveling with others is always such a mixed bag. As much as he enjoys the company of others - particularly company as fine as this - the obligation to follow their pace instead of setting his own always seems more trouble than its worth. As much as Joxter enjoys the presence of others, he enjoys nature much more, and being forced to keep his eyes on the ground - balancing his stride carefully between steps and ensuring he won’t trip on anything or anyone that might make the pain worse - instead of enjoying his surroundings is wearing on him. 

He knows he’s lagging behind the Mymble’s already slow pace, but there isn’t much he can do about it. Her speed - dictated largely by the small strides of her numerous children - is already more accessible to him than others’ tend to be. What more could he ask for? 

“Would you mind terribly if I carried you?” Mymble asks suddenly, and Joxter is so caught off guard he wonders for a moment if she’s talking to one of the children instead of him, but her eyes stay fixed on _his_ face and not any of theirs. 

“Me?” he asks, trying quite hard to hide the sudden influx of shame that’s caught him rather off guard. “You know I’m not one of your children, right?”

It might be true that the Joxter is both lazy and crippled, but he’s never let it be said that he’s childish or incapable because of it. 

“I should hope not,” Mymble replies, smiling with the joke, but some of his true feelings must show through the instinctive smile he’d given her in return, because she sobers quickly. “What’s wrong?”

And how is Joxter meant to answer that question? What words could he possibly use to explain?

He’s gotten so used to the casual avoidance, the averted glances and empty spaces in conversations, that having it spoken aloud so plainly is terribly strange. The only times others tend to bring it up is when they want to disparage it or make their almost mocking insinuations about him. The shame is so unexpected and somehow still predictable, though he hasn’t the foggiest idea what he has to be ashamed of. Joxter has always been adamant that he is himself and has refused to be swayed by others who expect otherwise, and yet... He’s still almost waiting for the trick, for the joke, for her to pull the rug out from beneath his faltering legs like it seems everyone else does. 

“You can walk ahead if you need to,” he tells her, instead of any of it, even though he’d much rather she didn’t. 

She seems surprised by the suggestion, its implication. “No,” she says, as hurriedly as she ever says anything. “I’m not in a rush, I’d have to leave the kids before I left you, if I was. I’m not impatient, and I know that you can walk just fine on your own - even when it’s uncomfortable, so it’s not that I think you’re incapable either. I just... wanted to offer a chance at a break, if you wanted.” She paused for a moment, head tilting in thought, “Though I suppose we could all just stop and take a break if you’d prefer.” A shrug. “Not to mention,” she adds, “it can be such great fun to remind a lover of how strong you really are,” giving him a leer that is probably only half-joking, if joking at all. 

Joxter allows himself to grin at the comment - humored and interested by it in equal measure - despite the severity with which he considers her real offer. Despite her words, he still finds himself wondering if she genuinely means what she says, and whether or not he’s willing to get involved either way. 

It’s true that their little entourage could just stop and take a break as a group. It might even be better if they did allow some of the children a chance to get off of their feet (regardless of whether any of them would actually take the opportunity). But Joxter has always hated being the reason for a stop, and even more than that, he hates being left behind (however temporary) while others continue on ahead - particularly when those he’s with do so without a word. 

So maybe being carried isn’t an entirely repelling solution to avoiding both of those problems, in addition to the problem of the pain itself. It may even be fun. Almost everyone knows mumriks and their natures, that even a mumrik like him is entirely capable and self-sufficient and likes it that way. It’s been quite a while since the Joxter has had an opportunity to indulge in being taken care of - particularly by someone who can do so without invalidating his independence. Too many people are all to willing to sacrifice his body in order to grasp his personhood, and he is far too tired of it.

But still, is it worth it? Is he willing to shatter the trust and understanding he’s built with her, if her intentions aren’t as clear as she’s said? If she turns out to be mocking him, or planning to hold this over his head whenever she pleases? Does he trust her enough to extend it in this?

“Let’s give it a shot,” he says finally, emboldened by her lack of insistence, and his hesitance still can’t quite smother his fondness when her eyes light up in delight. 

(He won’t lie and say that her size and strength had never caught his attention before. After all, what’s not to love about a woman of such great stature?)

”Be sure to tell me if I’m doing more harm than good,” she says, and then lifts him up with delightful ease. 

Despite his acquiescence and admitted interest, Joxter is still mostly expecting to dislike the entire experience (at least in this particular situation, if not entirely). Reliance on others is nothing to be ashamed of, in theory at least, but the reality is that sometimes enduring the pain is worth escaping the pity, or the thinly veiled insults to his personhood or capabilities. If even a hint of pity or the self-assurance of those who think they know what’s best for him better than he does had shown in her at all, Joxter wouldn’t have lingered for a second. 

But there isn’t. Mymble picks him up, ensures he’s comfortable, and calls her children to continue on their way. There’s no over-indulgence in his vulnerability or emphasis on his supposed weakness, just a quick adjustment of his position before they move on as normal. The fact that Joxter’s back is no longer screaming and his feet are no longer weighed down by exhaustion and dragging through the dirt almost seems like a bonus instead of the entire point.

Joxter allows himself to lean into her, and lets the shame and reluctance fade away in the face of her easy acceptance.

The carrying won’t stop there; it never quite does. Sometimes she’ll ask, and will always accept his answers of no without question or reluctance even as they decrease in frequency, and sometimes he will ask her. Sometimes she holds him comfortably against her chest and others she’ll toss him casually over one of her shoulders (and she always seems to know without asking which he’s able to handle) laughing heartily at his delighted purring or mocking squawking, sometimes she waits patiently for him to climb up her dresses himself to drape his body neatly over her shoulders. Always there is the implicit respect and consideration that ensures his comfort above all else, including the physical. 

What a remarkable mymble, indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> cripple brain says: having your struggles noticed and being offered help/suggestions can be such a double edged blade and the hesitance and instilled shame is natural and understandable
> 
> lesbian brain says: hhhh. pretty lady lift me
> 
> Casual nod to [one of mac’s poems](https://campgender.tumblr.com/post/186640814245/id-an-original-poem-titled-after-visiting-the) in a line of this fic. that one still hits hard. 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com)


End file.
